


Fearloathingdisgustrageviolence/UNFULLFILLED?!

by Dangersocks



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: A StrexCorp Story, Bad Things Happen To Carlos, Bondage, Branding, Gunplay, M/M, Post-Episode: e032 Yellow Helicopters, Strexcorp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Dangersocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a few changes happening around Night Vale. Remember, you are perfectly safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearloathingdisgustrageviolence/UNFULLFILLED?!

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second tributary piece I made in order to avoid life goals and happiness. I made it for Tumblr artist Nazi-Nurse because her Night Vale art makes me feel things. 
> 
> Nazi-Nurse wrote an 8-page comic regarding a StrexCorp™ takeover after the podcast "Yellow Helicopters" aired. My story will probably make no sense if you are not familiar with the comic and I suggest you approach it cautiously if violence triggers you. I also promise that it will not harm you and you will be satisfied or weeping by the end.
> 
> A post with all the comic pages is here: 
> 
> http://nazi-nurse.tumblr.com/post/65634692105/i-have-been-scrolling-and-scrolling-through-your-blog

He is disappointed in himself.

 

No, not that self. That self gets a different emotion.

 

_Fearloathingdisgustrageviolence._

 

Carlos trembles as he tries to articulate the feeling he directs at this person and the reaction his body produces is yet one more thing that gives him cause to be disappointed in himself.

 

He is disappointed in himself because he is here, tied to a chair like a comic-book damsel in distress. He is disappointed because he cannot control the rush of feelings he gets when he sees this person so much like him (oh God, how much they’re different though -- _fearloathingdisgustrageviolence_ ) and mostly, he is disappointed in what is going to happen.

 

He is going to smell burnt flesh, he will experience pain and he will probably cry out and make a lot of noise unwillingly.

 

When Carlos clenches his eyes shut he remembers the tiny city under the bowling alley. He almost died there and had barely uttered a grunt in reply. Those explosions had hurt and yet there had been a quiet, peaceful finality to the entire experience.

 

Nothing is quiet now. His heart thunders in his ears and his chair creaks as he vibrates in frustration and maybe it is because Cecil is unaccounted for and has been acting unsettlingly unlike himself lately. And maybe it is the closeness of this...this... _him_ , who is not him. Who is exactly him, whom Carlos would give anything for a chance to throttle and scream at and kill and run away from, all concurrently. All immediately and without hesitation.

 

He growls. Maybe it is a whimper. A growl is less disappointing so he calls it that.

 

“Now, that’s enthusiasm,” prompts the other. His other. Diego. In his voice. _Fearloathingdisgustrageviolence_. “It’s standard procedure for all StrexCorp™ employees to show loyalty to the company and since we need you a little more focused because our plans for you are more...specialized, I thought we’d skip the basic training and move straight on to brand recognition. We are you, Carlos.”

 

Diego, in both his suit and labcoat, waves a propane branding iron about casually with perfect teeth flashing. Carlos keeps his hidden, tense and seething with questions he is not willing to have answered.

 

Something will come. Something will happen. Somewhere out there is a solution to all of this and…

 

The Tracker is dead. Cecil needs Carlos’ help (he can feel it) and the angels that do not exist will no longer answer anyone’s prayers. Carlos is a man of science with nothing but past performance to predict future behaviour. He knows not to trust in that.

 

He knows better and is further disappointed in himself.

 

“Carlos,” drawls the businessman with oozing confidence that once more sets him apart from the scientists’ perception of himself. An arm snakes around Carlos’ shoulder and its almost chummy. “Welcome to the company.”

 

Flesh, pain, _fearloathingdisgustrageviolence_ , noise, gutteral, smell, meat, _fearloathingdisgustrageviolence_ , red, blinding, _fearloathingdisgustrageviolence_ , piercing, brilliant…

 

He is disappointed in himself as he cries.

 

\---

 

He is proud of himself.

 

And the other, his other. The music that person makes is perfect. Kevin used to sound like that.

 

_Unfullfi_ \--

 

Diego clenches his jaw, smiling. His eyes are sharp. He is proud.

 

That reek of cooked flesh is grounding. It communicates that Strex™ is everywhere. Inside: Yes. On top of: Of course. And around: Here is Diego’s counterpart, bearing the brand. Here it is, in the air and beside him, concurrently.

 

Science says that two things cannot occupy the same place. One thing cannot be in two places, then. Strex™ is the solution.

 

Diego gives Carlos’ shoulder a squeeze and appreciates the trembling he receives back. Carlos is trying to stamp his feet but his legs are roped to the chair. He is hissing shallow breaths in and shallow breaths out.

 

Sometimes Night Valeans forget to breathe.

 

“That must smart,” Diego comments as he departs from Carlos’ side. He can’t help but feel a fondness for the other. The jealousy that Diego had underwent when Kevin had begun to comment incessantly on his new friend, that...radio host, well, now he is a lot more forgiving. Diego cannot put forth words to describe what this scientist makes him feel.

 

_Unfullfil_ \--

 

He drops the StrexCorp™ brand brand on the metal table with more force than he means to. It clatters loudly.

 

Pride. Diego feels pride.

 

He turns to apologize at the noise and is unsatisfied that he does not have Carlos’ attention. The scientist continues to seethe ragged breaths with eyes focused down at the vivid red welt rising from his chest.

 

Diego has an idea.

 

Where do ideas even come from? he wonders with Kevin’s voice chiming in his head. Kevin is not here, though. Kevin is busy. Kevin is probably having a lot of fun right now and Diego is not upset. He is not _unfullfil_ \--

 

His hand is in his pocket before he even knows it has moved. Well, if Kevin is playing with Cecil it is perfectly alright for Diego and Carlos to bond. He is proud that Desert Bluffs can find ways to work with Night Vale, even with the lack of cooperation the other desert community shows.

 

The polished handle of his revolver fits naturally in his hand as he withdraws it.

 

“We have a matching set now,” he says conversationally as he taps his own chest. “I was a lot younger when I got mine, though.”

 

Carlos flinches away from the words and perhaps it is out of concern. Yes, concern. Because being so young and being put towards such a grand purpose, why, that must have been daunting. And then Diego notices a sidelong glance being cast at the revolver.

 

“I remember that this helped,” Diego says. He holds the revolver up and presses its cool, metal side into the burn.

 

Carlos hisses anew with hints of his voice cracking.

 

_Feel things? Felt things?_

 

_Unfullfil --_

 

The side of the revolver twists and Diego rips it back with hands that feel less confident. The gun needs to be closer to Diego because of...because...Carlos yells shrilly as the skin is damaged further by the unexpected dragging force of the retraction. Carlos’ teeth flash in a grimace and Diego catches himself puzzled by his behaviour.

 

His behaviour. Not the other’s but…

 

He needs to fix this. He needs to reassure and reacquire control. He needs Kevin because with Kevin he knows his place and when to push and when to pull the trigger and…

 

With watery eyes, Carlos looks at him with several expressions just words away from being worded. Diego cuts them short by throwing a perfectly manicured finger in front of the scientist’s lips.

 

“It’s okay,” he shushes. “We take care of our employees.”

 

He is taken care of. He takes care of Kevin. And StrexCorp™ takes care of Night Vale now. Something to be proud of, certainly.

 

The barrel of the gun returns to the StrexCorp™ logo, raised and waxing with body fluid and Diego presses the circle of his weapon into Carlos. A heart hides under there. A heart that is beating and feeding organs.

 

Carlos whines, eyes stuck on the gun a hand’s length from his nose. He is trying so hard to contain the sound. Diego thinks it is beautiful.

 

He thinks that the metal must feel wonderful on the burn. Such contrasts: hot and cold. The signals traveling from Carlos’ skin to his brain and from his brain to his mouth and from his mouth to Diego’s ear.

 

“You don’t understand,” Diego murmurs. “You have no idea what we have in store.” He leans in and takes Carlos’ head with his free hand. It is so strange to thread his own fingers through hair that is like his. His other, though, wears his coif long and loose. There is no familiar gel -- slick and slippery, or crusted by the heat. There is sweat and grease and perhaps traces of the radio host...

 

For some reason that makes Diego happy. He gently strokes the gun over the border of the brand and is rewarded with a sharp intake of a breath and the beginning of a keen.

 

The gun continues its path, done with loving the symbol of Diego’s smiling god. It crosses an exposed, quivering chest that is shining with perspiration. Carlos stops breathing in anticipation and the quivering must be his pulse. The gun hovers of the frantic fluttering artery at the bottom of Carlos’ sternum. It must be tired, all that work. Diego can feel it vibrate faintly through his revolver. He can feel his own pulse faintly through his index finger. It hovers on the trigger like an old friend.

 

There is something Diego has not thought of in the last few moments. He doesn’t try to recall it. The thought is on the tip of his mind and it is nice to leave it there, teetering. He is very attentive, now. This is what bonding does and Diego welcomes it. He’s so close to Carlos and proud of that.

 

Only Kevin has been closer and…

 

_Unfu_ \--  

 

He shoots the thought down. He presses in until his forehead bumps in with Carlos’ head. His hand clenches at the scientist’s skull as he jerks the gun up, finds resistance in raised flesh, not the burned part but -- “Do you feel it too?” -- nipple.

 

Carlos throws his shoulders to his ears and cringes, eyes shuttered tight and teeth grinding back a sound of agreement. Diego assesses that Carlos must feel many things.

 

The barrel of the revolver encloses the left nipple -- close to the heart and close to the logo -- and presses. Slides minutely. Finds the limit of how it can move without letting the nub escape. Diego tries to imagine how that would feel and writhes in his own skin at the thought. He carefully straddles the chair with is long legs. Carlos’ thighs are tense in holding Diego up, unable to move with their shins fastened so securely in place.

 

As a child, had he not tried this? As experiments...yes, once Diego had been fascinated with...sensations of different parts of his body and the presence of danger and metal and real to stimulate and…

 

Kevin feels nothing. Kevin feels what he’s told to feel. Kevin is told to feel everything. Kevin feels everything.

 

_And what do I feel?_ Diego asks. His suit is tight and closing in. His gun is the only thing he wants to wear, wrapped like a perfect accessory around his finger like a broken ring. Carlos can keep the lab coat or nothing. What does his other feel?

 

“Can you describe it?” he asks. He is doubly glad that they had decided not to basic train Carlos. The answers will be coherent and honest. He is curious to know. He is desperate. “Can you quantify it?”

 

Their faces are almost touching. The gun is twisting into flesh. The body under Diego is vibrating and warm. They should be one body. They should be closer. The answer could be explosive. Diego feels...he feels…

 

“You’re deranged,” chokes the scientist. “You’re truly, utterly deranged.”

 

Is there pity in that? Diego doesn’t know why this is important. He pauses, hands trembling and his grip still tightly wrapped in hair and holding. They share the same air, breathing in tight and together. If he grinds in just so…

 

A voice rings through Diego’s mind, cheerful like a bell. “ _UNFULLFILLED?!_ ”

 

Something triggers. Something goes off. The silence in the room is wrong.

 

Diego blinks.

 

There is nothing here he is proud of: seeping, damp, _unfullfilled?_ dirty, wretched, _unfullfilled?_ moist, cloying, him, _unfullfilled?_ scent, uncomfortable, soiled.

 

_Unfullfil_ \--

 

Abruptly, Diego pulls back. He lets go. He pockets the gun with practiced and unthinking ease and the sweat and pus on the barrel find a home in his dry-cleaned pants. They are the only thing he’ll share with the scientist. Perhaps they are no longer as close as he had thought they would be. His shoes click on the concrete floor with the finality of a knocking door.

 

Kevin’s favourite joke:

 

_Knock knock._

 

_Who’s there?_

 

_Strex™._

 

Carlos shakes in his chair, staring at the floor to the side with an intense and deliberate focus.

 

Diego’s mouth twitches at a corner. “I apologize. That was unprofessional of me.”

 

When Carlos refuses to look up, Diego shifts into a familiar posture -- tall, efficient, in control. “It will not happen again.”

 

It does not sound like a lie, and Diego is proud of himself.

  
  
  
  



End file.
